


This Grace of Love is Mine Eye

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Series: Love is Not a Victory March [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Cas got into a fight. And maybe Cas said some not-so-nice things, but Sam didn't blame him for it. Really. He forgave him. Cas is more interested in getting Sam to forgive himself.</p><p>One drabble every day from 1 February to 14 February (Valentine's Day).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taken directly from my Tumblr with the same url.
> 
> Title from Julia Palmer's "The Soul's Desire":  
> "This Grace of love is mine eye,  
> The thing, I greatly do desire.  
> For it the richest pearls, should lie  
> Under my feet, as dirt, and mire.
> 
> I will desire no greater pleasure  
> Then in these flames of love to lie.  
> I will seek for no richer treasure  
> Then Wings of love, wheron to fly."

It certainly hadn’t been there when Sam left, but it was there now:  A single red carnation lying on his bed, tea-stained paper wrapped around the stem and secured with a ribbon. Sam smiled, albeit apprehensively. They had been fighting when he and Cas last saw each other, when Cas flew away in a fit of frustration. That was a week ago, give or take. It wasn’t like Sam was keeping track, wasn’t like every minute he spent without Cas was a pin stabbing through his heart.

The flower had already begun to wilt slightly. Sam placed it in a Solo cup full of water and moved on.

He approached the paper with a bit more hesitation. The last things Cas had said to him hadn’t been so loving, and he could only hope that whatever the angel had left him wasn’t bad news. Sam unfurled it with a held breath and a slight tremor in his hands.

 _ **Rules for a happy** **marriage,**_ it read in Cas’s calligraphic handwriting.

  1. _Never both be angry at the same time._
  2. _If you have to criticise, do it lovingly._
  3. _Never bring up mistakes of the past._
  4. _Neglect the whole world rather than each other._
  5. _Never go to sleep with an argument unsettled._
  6. _When you have done something wrong, be ready to admit it and ask forgiveness._
  7. _Find one thing that you love about your partner every day._



_After all these years, one would think I would have learned this by now. It’s a wonder you still love me. I’m sorry._

Sam couldn’t stop his grin if he wanted to. He slid the letter into his duffle and looked around the room, wondering if Cas was there, if he was watching. He wasn’t.

"Castiel," he called, spinning his silver band around his finger absently and knowing that his angel would hear him. "Thank you."


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily-of-the-valley: Humility.

Day 2

Sam sighed as the motel door closed behind him. This case was going nowhere, and Sam was almost convinced that this wasn’t their kind of problem. But Dean was insistent, so he had come back to do more research while his brother chased some ridiculous lead.

He sighed again as he sat down at the table by the window, starting to pull his laptop towards himself, but pausing when he saw what was perched on top:  A Lily-of-the-Valley with a little folded note attached by a string of cotton. The corners of Sam’s lips twitched upwards in a fleeting smile, both amused and touched.

_7\.  Find one thing you love about your partner every day_ , the paper read. Rule Seven of maintaining a happy marriage. Below that was “ _I love your humility, and I’m sorry I ever doubted it_.”

Sam frowned, not because he was disappointed with Cas’s gesture, but because the angel had tried a million times to tell convince Sam why he was a good person, why he deserved not only to live but to be happy, but it never quite got through to him. Sam wasn’t sure it did now either, but he definitely felt the stirrings of  _something_ that wasn’t just how much he missed his angel. His  _husband._

"Thank you, Castiel," he said to the empty room, standing to place the lily-of-the-valley in the cup with the carnation. He wondered how long Cas was going to keep this up, and how long he was going to stay away.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunflower: Loyalty and wishing. Close relatives of hope.

They were on their way back from interviewing another dead end when Dean finally brought it up. It was only a matter of time, and Sam was actually wondering why he didn’t say something sooner.

"Are you and Cas fighting?"

"I don’t even know," Sam sighed.

"What?"

"I mean, yeah, we got into an argument, but I forgave him a while ago."

Sam fully expected Dean to reply — with a joke or advise or  _something —_ but when he looked at Dean expectantly, all he got was, “Hey, this is your chick-flick, not mine.”

He groaned as the Impala pulled into the parking lot, making a mad dash for their room before the car was parked, only to realise halfway there that he didn’t have the key.

"Woah, Sammy, what’s the rush?" Dean teased, only half joking.

"Just open the door."

He did so with a raised eyebrow and an expression that said  _You have finally lost it_. Sam tried to press past his brother to get there first, but Dean beat him still, and Sam groaned internally in defeat, just waiting for Dean to find what Cas had left him and make some stupid joke about his masculinity.

"What the — ? Hey, Sam, is this yours?"

But it wasn’t a flower that Dean was holding, it was a leather-bound journal.

"Where was it?"

"On the table, by your laptop."

"Yeah, it’s mine," he answered quickly, snatching the journal before Dean got curious and decided to flip through it. He made a bee-line for the bathroom, locking the door behind him and ignoring Dean’s claim that "You’re such a freak sometimes!"

As soon as he undid the latch, the smallest sunflower Sam had ever seen fell from under the cover. It was no larger than a daisy, small enough to hide it in his shirt pocket until he could sneak it into the Solo cup hidden under his bed.

At the top of the first page, in Castiel’s pristine handwriting, was written, “ _The first of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen_ ,” and underneath that, “ _I’m sorry_.”

At the top of the next page was “ _The second of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen / I love your humility, and I’m sorry I ever doubted it._ ”

And on the page after that, “ _The third of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen / I love your capacity for hope, especially in times when I lose it myself._ " And in tiny, tiny writing just below, " _I don’t know why you insist on hiding these, but I can respect your wishes. I will be more discrete in the future._ ”

Sam turned to the next blank page, dug a pen out of his pocket, and scribbled, “ _04.02.14 /_ _I forgive you, Castiel. You don’t have to keep doing this._ ”


	4. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hydrangea: Gratefulness, heartfelt feelings, “Thank you for understanding.”

"Hey, Samantha!" Dean called as Sam was packing their bags into the trunk, After yet another day of investigation, Sam was finally able to convince Dean that the town did not have a supernatural problem when they found the missing teenagers hitchhiking on the side of the road almost in the next state, bound for Vegas.

"What is it?" he shouted back, although he was loathe to respond to one of his brother’s stupid nick names.

"Don’t forget your diary." When Sam turned, Dean was waving it in front of his face. He snatched it from his hands, irritated that Dean had been messing with his stuff again, even though he really hadn’t been. Sam’s worst fear at the moment was that his brother would get nosy and read it, not because of the taunting he would no doubt have to endure, but more because this was something private between him and Cas. There wasn’t a whole lot of room for privacy in their lives, so Sam learned to treasure it when an opportunity presented itself.

"It’s not a diary," he grumbled.

"Right," Dean snorted. "You use it for hunting. Taking notes and stuff." It was a dumb lie and one that Dean undoubtedly saw through right away, but it was better than telling the truth. "Doesn’t matter. Just get in. We leave now we can be in Oklahoma by tomorrow afternoon."

Sam slammed the trunk closed and slid into the passenger seat. Truth be told, he was nervous about leaving. They were more or less invisible on angel radar thanks to the marks on their ribs, but that also meant that Cas wouldn’t be able to find them if they moved. And he hadn’t seen Cas to talk to him, despite the fact that Sam had told him plainly that he was forgiven.

Sam sighed as the Impala rumbled to life underneath him, Dean pulling her out of the motel and onto the road bound for Oklahoma. He couldn’t exactly ask to stay; they didn’t stop working just because of a little quarrel.

"Hey, stop moping," Dean said, not unkindly. "I’m sure your boyfriend’s fine."

"Husband," Sam corrected automatically, flipping the latch on his journal. A rather flat hydrangea slid out from under the cover, and Sam checked to make sure that Dean hadn’t seen before hiding it in his shirt pocket.

"Yeah, no, he’s your boyfriend," Dean argued, as per usual.

"There was a wedding. You witnessed it and everything."

"Okay, but Cas is an  _angel._ You can’t marry something that doesn’t have its own body.”

Sam rolled his eyes. It was the same argument every time, and it never went anywhere. He flipped to the fourth page in the journal, the one where he left a message for Cas, asking him in no uncertain terms to come back:

_04.02.14  
_ _I forgive you, Castiel. You don’t have to keep doing this._

Underneath his chicken scrawl was Cas’s reply:

_Yes, I do. I hurt you, and that is unforgivable.  
Although, I love how readily you forgive, even the most heinous offences._

"And anyway," Dean continued the discussion when Sam didn’t respond. "I don’t think Charlie and I watching you and Cas put on jewelry really counts as a wedding."

"Yeah, well," Sam frowned, only half paying attention to the conversation as he dug in his pocket for a pen, "We’ve never really done anything by the book, have we?"

_05.02.14  
_ _You’re forgiven, Cas. Please come back._


	5. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red daisy: Beauty unknown to the possessor. In other words, exactly Sam’s problem and what Cas is trying to help him with.

They eventually stopped for the night at about four in the morning. There hadn’t been a motel in sight for the past three hours, so Dean eventually had to just call it quits and pull off the road to catch a few Zs.

Sam stayed awake as long as he could, hoping to talk to Cas when he popped in to give him that day’s flower. When the sky to the East began to lighten, Sam finally gave into exhaustion. Cas probably didn’t know where they were, because Sam didn’t even really know where they were, and there were no signs or landmarks to tell. Still, he fell asleep in the backseat with the journal clutched tightly to his chest, thinking that, in the case that Cas  _did_ know where to find them, he would be woken up when he removed the journal.

When Sam opened his eyes again, they were on the main road, the sun fully risen, making the backseat uncomfortably warm, and Led Zeppelin playing softly through the speakers.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Dean teased from the front seat, turning the volume up now that Sam was awake. Sam just grumbled something incoherent and sat up. He checked his pocket to make sure the hydrangea hadn’t fallen out in his sleep, but in its place was a red daisy. He just stared at it for a moment, wondering how a blue hydrangea could have turned into a red daisy overnight before realising that Cas must have somehow switched them early that morning. Then he stared at it a moment longer, simply because he had never seen a red daisy before. Or any daisy, really, besides the small white ones that grew naturally almost everywhere during the spring. Sam wondered how Cas chose which flowers to give, and where he got them from.

Then he silently flipped to the fifth page in the journal. “ _05.02.14 /_ _You’re forgiven, Cas. Please come back,”_ it read at the top. Sam had been hoping Cas would actually show up rather than responding in writing, but as that obviously hadn’t happened, Sam tried not to feel too disappointed.

_I am not concerned with you forgiving me. I am concerned with you forgiving yourself.  
I love how you see the good in everyone you meet. I do not love that you cannot see the good in you._

Sam frowned and closed the journal. When they stopped for gas, he moved back to the front seat but left the journal in the back. That way, he didn’t have to see it and thing about how, either way you looked at it, he was still the reason Cas was gone


	6. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calla lily: Purity/resurrection. In this case, the revival of Sam’s sense of self-worth.

They weren’t going to be in Oklahoma long. It was a simple poltergeist — an old friend of John’s calling in a favour — that brought them there in the first place. Sam handled the case mechanically, feeling more detached from the situation than usual, which was very unlike him, as Dean was quick to point out, but it was what helped him get through the day.

After checking into a motel the morning they rolled into town, Sam had unpacked expecting to find that all the flowers Cas had given him had wilted, having been precariously placed in his duffle for the better part of two days. But they were all as fresh as the day he had received them. For some reason, it made him angry to see that Cas had somehow magicked the flowers to keep them alive. He didn’t bother putting any of them in water, and he didn’t check the journal, even when he found a new flower — a calla lily — among the rest.

He had no rational reason to be angry at Castiel. Sure, the angel was avoiding him for the time being, but that was more Sam’s fault. If Sam could just love himself a little more, stop blaming himself for everything, maybe Cas would come back.

The irony in that logic was not lost on him.

But self-depreciation ran in the family and had as long as he could remember. It wasn’t a switch he could just turn off. He would go to the ends of the Earth for Cas, but he felt like this was something he just  _couldn’t_ do.

At the end of the day, when they had finished the precursory research just to ensure that they were in fact dealing with a poltergeist, Sam finally caved and checked the journal for Cas’s message.

_The sixth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen  
I love your determination to persevere in all situations. Remember:  In some instances, your situation must worsen before it can improve. Rock bottom is a wonderful place to build a foundation._

Sam sighed and closed the journal before crawling into bed. He was going to have a long day tomorrow. But he fell asleep with the begrudging thought that he felt a little better, although he wouldn’t have admitted it if asked.


	7. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freesia: Trust. Absolute, unfailing trust.

The poltergeist knocked them around pretty badly when they tried to cleanse the house. Dean more so than Sam, considering he had been pinned between the wall and a bookcase at the very start of the job. Still, they were both pretty banged up and returned to the motel covered in cuts and bruises.

While Dean immediately began to search for alcohol, Sam headed for the journal stashed by his bed, hoping to hide the flower he knew would be there just in case Dean’s search became too extensive.

The journal seemed untouched where it rested on the bedside table, although by now Sam knew better. He quickly opened it while Dean had his back turned.

_The seventh of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen  
I love your honesty. You are the most trustworthy person I know._

Sam scoffed softly and tossed the journal onto the bed. If he was so honest and trustworthy, he wouldn’t have  … 

Sam shook his head to dispel the thoughts. Right now, both he and his brother were injured, and they needed to check each other over. He could think about it later.

He thought he heard the flutter of wings and whipped around as fast as he dared — the room spun, and he made a mental note to ask Dean to check for a concussion — but rather than Cas standing there, there was a pile of medical supplies on the table — or rather, what they as hunters would call “medical supplies”:  A container of flavourless dental floss, a package of suture needles, a few gauze squares, a roll of medical tape, and (Sam laughed a little at Cas’s sense of humour) a bottle of whisky with a freesia sticking out the top. He immediately removed the flower and placed it with the others when he heard Dean grumbling about how he couldn’t find the bottle of liquor they kept on hand for such an occasion as this.

"This cut’s gonna need stitches," he was griping, "And I’m not letting you anywhere near me with a needle until I’m  _at least_ buzzed.”

Sam rolled his eyes and passed him the bottle. “Don’t drink all of it; it’s the only disinfectant we have.”

Dean flipped him off before taking a swig, and Sam threaded one of the needles, thinking that he might dig into the skin a little more than necessary out of spite.

After Dean was all patched up and Sam had been assured that he wasn’t concussed, he laid awake staring at the ceiling for a while. He wondered why Cas would have popped in to give them supplies but not linger long enough to heal them. Not that Sam expected Cas to heal every single one of their little injuries, but if the angel was going to make the effort to gather and deliver supplies, it wasn’t that much more effort to just heal them himself. On the other hand, Dean hadn’t seemed to notice the sound, so maybe he had imagined it.

That train of thought didn’t last long, not when what Cas had written was niggling at the back of his mind.  _You are the most trustworthy person I know_. It was funny because Sam didn’t trust himself with anything. He even managed to screw up a simple poltergeist case, something that should have been second nature to him.

But even after all the big screw-ups — demon blood, the apocalypse, Purgatory — Cas somehow trusted him. It was reassuring in the way that discovering angels existed was reassuring five years ago, and he held onto that knowledge like a bead of blood in his heart.


	8. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilac: Emotions of early love. Or, in Cas’s case, the emotion of love in and of itself.

Sam woke up for no apparent reason before the sun had even risen. Then he felt that someone was touching his face and moved on instinct, one hand seizing the intruder by the wrist and the other diving under the pillow for his knife. It wasn’t until he had the blade pressed against the person’s throat that Sam’s sleep-fuzzy vision cleared enough to see who it was.

"Cas?" he breathed softly so as to not wake Dean, pulling the knife away but keeping his hold on Cas’s wrist. "Holy shit. Don’t sneak up on me like that."

"I’m sorry," Cas whispered back. Even half asleep, Sam appreciated hearing his angel’s voice after missing it for so long. "Go back to sleep. I shouldn’t have — "

"Don’t you dare," Sam grumbled. "Get in bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning."

For a moment, Cas was still and silent, and Sam was afraid he was about to fly off again. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he relaxed and climbed into the bed behind Sam, claiming the position of Big Spoon. Sam didn’t even consider fighting him about it; he just relaxed into his husband’s embrace, feeling himself dozing off once more with Cas’s comforting presence at his back.

"I missed this," he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep. "Missed you."

"I missed you too, Sam," Cas breathed against his neck.

When Sam woke up the second time, he was wrapped up in the warmth of several blankets, but even still, he recognised the loss of Cas’s body heat. He groaned softly, half-knowing what he would find when he turned over. On Cas’s side was the journal and a lilac. He tossed the lilac with the other flowers and opened the journal, more exasperated than angry.

 _"The eighth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen,_ " it read.

_I’m sorry I could not stay until you awoke, but I do have my reasons, believe it or not. I know you must be growing tired of all of this, for which I also apologise. I’m afraid I have to stay away a little while longer._

_My goal in this little game — for want of a better word — is the same as what my goal in our relationship has been for quite some time:  I only want you to realise that you matter. In a good way, I mean. You do not merely take up space and make mistakes, as you seem to believe. You are kind, and forgiving, and fearless, and at the very least a hero. I have been trying to convince you of this for a long time, but it seems I have only been a hindrance to the effort, as evidenced by our previous argument. So I have removed myself from the equation, so to speak. Or rather, I have removed everything of myself that is not encouraging or loving._

_Love like this is new to me, even as an angel. Especially as an angel, as we are conditioned to love on command, to love all humans even when we have been given no reason to. But I chose to love you, and I thank you for your patience in teaching me what that really means. Now I am only hoping to return the favour._

_I will see you soon. I promise._

Sam checked over his shoulder to make sure Dean was still out before turning the page and grabbing the pen off the nightstand.

“ _09.02.14_ ,” he wrote. “ _Every day we are apart is like a bullet in my chest. Actually, since I know what that feels like, being separated like this is much worse. I understand what you’re trying to do and that you think it’s supposed to help, but frankly, I don’t care. What I really need is you here with me.”_


	9. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daffodil: Respect. Cas's respect for Sam and Sam's respect for himself.

"You know what we haven’t done?" Dean asked, plopping down next to Sam at the table. "Something that I’ve always wanted to do."

"Uh, go to the Grand Canyon?" Sam guessed.

"We’ve been to the Grand Canyon."

Sam shrugged and rolled his eyes, just _knowing_ he was about to be dragged into something. “I don’t know, Dean. What have you always wanted to do?”

"Take a drive down Route 66!" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "All the way, Chicago to LA, picking up cases as we go. You know how big cities are always great places to find a hunt."

Sam smiled at his brother’s excitement. Truth be told, the thought of hours in a car wasn’t so much of a treat as just part of their life. But if Dean wanted to go, there wasn’t much Sam could do to stop him. They didn’t have anything in the way of a destination at the moment anyway.

"Fine," Sam acquiesced, as if it was a huge burden to see his brother smile like he did. "Just let me finish packing up."

Dean clapped his shoulder as he stood. “There’s a lot of history in Route 66, Sammy. Plenty of chances to geek out.”

"Yeah, whatever," he replied in lieu of something more intelligent as his brother left to check out.

As soon as the door was closed, he slid the knife under his pillow into his belt, tossed the flowers into the side pocket of his duffle, and checked the journal. A daffodil fell from behind the cover, and Sam was quick to put it with the others, checking over his shoulder for any signs of his brother. It didn’t take long to check out of a motel.

“ _09.02.14_ ,” it said on that day’s page. “ _Every day we are apart is like a bullet in my chest. Actually, since I know what that feels like, being separated like this is much worse. I understand what you’re trying to do and that you think it’s supposed to help, but frankly, I don’t care. What I really need is you here with me.”_

In retrospect, that sounded a bit desperate, but Cas’s response was short and concise:

_That is exactly the problem:  You do not care._

_I love your generosity. I for one would have been more wary of your brother’s antics._

Sam couldn’t help but laugh to himself.


	10. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red tulip: Belief and a declaration of love. “This love is irresistible.”

It took half the day to get from Oklahoma to Illinois, and another few hours to reach Chicago. Sam stayed awake the entire ride, searching local newspapers for any hunts lined up with Route 66. There were always strange happenings in Chicago, as with any large city. The hard part was weeding out the ones that weren’t supernatural.

Just inside the Illinois state line, when Dean stopped for gas and what he generously called “breakfast,” Sam checked the journal. He couldn’t think of a time when Cas could have dropped in, considering they were both awake through the night, but it didn’t hurt to check. Truth be told he was beginning to look forward to Cas’s little notes.

He was curious, but not surprised, when a red tulip fell out as soon as he opened the journal, signalling that Cas had indeed visited. He pocketed the flower, more out of habit by now than actual desire for secrecy.

_The tenth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen,_

it said at the top of the page, just like always.

_I love how, even after everything you have been put through, you still have enough faith for the both of us._

That one puzzled Sam more than any of the others had. He didn’t think he had much of what anyone would call “faith,” considering he knew for a fact that God and angels existed. And that God was gone and angels were dicks. He kind of missed having faith like he used to, praying every day and truly believing that a higher power was listening.

Sam glanced around the parking lot, making sure his brother was still inside before folding his hands in his lap and bowing his head. He felt silly and self-conscious, and it had been so long since he prayed he almost didn’t know how to start.

 _Hey, God_ , he thought, wondering if that was an appropriate way to address the creator of the universe.  _I know I’ve fucked up a lot in the past, and I’m still trying to work through that. But for all your faults, you’re supposedly a pretty forgiving guy. Maybe you can help me… .  
_


	11. Day 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peony: These flowers actually have about six different meanings, but in this case, it represents good fortune and a happy marriage. Also, there is a superstition that keeping peony seeds under your pillow wards off nightmares.

Sam didn’t really have nightmares anymore. Okay, that was very untrue; he had nightmares almost every night, but they were manageable. He hadn’t had one of the terrifyingly realistic ones in months, but he was having one now. It was one he knew he wouldn’t remember when he woke up, but that didn’t make it any less real. When he finally startled himself awake, forcing his eyes open, he scanned the empty room in front of him slowly, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

Confident he was alone, Sam relaxed back into the mattress, running his free hand over his face and coming off damp with sweat. It was only a dream, he kept telling himself.  _It was only a dream_. He couldn’t even remember why he was consoling himself, what had set him off this time.

He rarely slept without Cas anymore, whether they be crammed together in a motel bed or spread out over each other in Sam’s back at the bunker. Not to say that he needed Cas to sleep, but it certainly helped to keep his fears at bay.

One of his hands was hidden under his pillow, undoubtedly reaching for his knife as he dreamt, although his fingers brushed something that was definitely  _not_ his knife, and he remembered what had woken him up in the first place:  A low, rough, whispered reassurance that had been very much real, right beside his ear. Sam smiled at the thought that Cas was still looking out for him, even for such a trivial thing as a nightmare.

Sam sat up and lifted the pillow. His knife was still there, but beside it was the journal and a white peony, rather smooshed from the weight of his head. He knew Cas was stealthy, but to have put these under his pillow while he slept must have been a challenge. In any case, he put the flower under the bed with the rest and opened the journal, checking the clock on the nightstand as he did. It was almost two in the morning, barely the next day and much earlier than Cas usually visited. He must have made a special trip, and the thought simultaneously made Sam smile and his heart ache.

 _The eleventh of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen,_ Cas had written.  _I love your independence, but I love even more how you choose to rely on your brother and me. You keep me grounded, sometimes. (In a good way. This is by no means a joke about flightlessness.)_

Sam chuckled softly to himself at Cas’s attempt at humour (intentional or otherwise) but immediately frowned as his words sank in. He didn’t think it was much of a choice to stay with Dean and Cas. He had survived Stanford for three years, and was with Amelia for one, all without them, and while he wasn’t exactly happy, he managed. But it still wasn’t a choice for him; it never was, because he would  _never_ decide to live without them if given the chance. That wasn’t an option, even when he was pissed at Dean and ended up walking away. It was never meant to be permanent, and it never turned out that way.

So while Sam felt that he had more selfish reasons for relying on Cas and Dean so heavily, he was at least assured that it wasn’t one-sided, and that, strangely, made him feel a lot better.


	12. Day 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White chrysanthemum: Cheerfulness, friendship, and truth.

"You were the one who wanted to pick up cases on the way," Sam explained irritably when Dean complained. Again.

"Yeah, Sam,  _on the way_. We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

"Well, I just so happened to find one here. Be thankful it’s simple."

Dean still griped, of course, and with admittedly good reason. Big cities were a bitch to hunt in. Too many people, too much history, too much land. At least Sam hadn’t dug up a werewolf hunt, or anything periodic like that.

While Dean went to check the public records, Sam suited up on his way to the morgue. If he heard the flutter of wings, he ignored it, dismissing it as wishful thinking. And anyway, it was probably just the wind. They  _were_ in Chicago, after all.

When he reached the police station, he got a couple of strange looks, but immediately brushed them off as confusion. He got that a lot on cases. It wasn’t until the receptionist gave him a knowing (vaguely creepy) smile on his way through that he began to get uncomfortable.

Sam met the medical examiner in the hallway outside the double doors that led into the morgue. She was much smaller than him and looked kind, and that was about all he needed to know about her. But when they shook hands, she pointed to his chest with her free one.

"Is that from a special someone?" she asked.

Sam looked where she was pointing. A white chrysanthemum that he had _definitely_ not put there was sticking out from the lapel of his jacket, standing out starkly against the dark material. He tried not to roll his eyes and, for the most part, succeeded. That would definitely explain the weird looks he had been getting.  _So much for discrete_.

"Yeah, it is," he answered instead, unable to keep the small smile off his face even in his irritation.

"Celebrating Valentine’s Day a little early, huh?"

Sam, surprisingly, hadn’t even thought about it. As much as he disliked the holiday, he hadn’t noticed how close it was. He made a mental note to remind Dean and to stay away from any hunts on that day. Valentine’s Day, much like Halloween, was notorious for its gruesome hunts.

"Or did she screw up somehow?" she laughed when Sam didn’t answer. "Because the last time I got flowers was when my girlfriend pissed me off."

Well, Sam considered, Cas had certainly upset him when they fought, but that seemed like ages ago. They were past that by now.

"No, nothing like that," Sam responded, feeling like he was on the brink of some realisation but still unable to figure it out.

When he had a moment to himself, after seeing the bodies and determining that they were on the right track with the case, Sam locked himself in the motel room and turned to the twelfth page. At the top, as he had expected, was Cas’s ornate handwriting.

_The twelfth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen  
_ _I love how efficiently you learn from your mistakes. That is very admirable._

In other words, Sam thought, “You’ve messed up a lot, but you’re getting better.” He was the one who kept screwing them over, but Cas was giving him flowers. Not so much an apology, but a reassurance.

Sam thought he understood now.


	13. Day 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dahlia: Dignity, elegance, and a bond that lasts forever. A celebration of love and marriage.

"You alright?" Dean asked for probably the third time in as many minutes.

"I’m fine," Sam mumbled absently, then, more lucidly, "Can we just torch this guy and get outta here?"

As Sam had promised, the hunt had been short and simple. Only a full day in, they had identified the spirit terrorising the apartment complex and where his body was buried.

"I’m sure we’d have it done by now if you weren’t being all emo at the moment."

Sam finally hit wood and used the shovel to crack it open, throwing it at Dean carelessly when there was enough space to pry the coffin open with his hands.

"No," he grit out irritably, "We’d be done by now if you would’ve helped me dig."

"Hey, I was the one who got thrown around yesterday," Dean griped, helping Sam climb out of the grave after the skeleton was exposed. "And this hunt was your idea, anyway."

Sam didn’t reply, instead dousing the corpse in salt and gasoline before tossing in a lit match and watching it go up in flames. It wasn’t really a sight he would ever get used to, for better or for worse.

The ride back to the motel room was silent. Sam wasn’t really up for conversation, his mind on other, much more personal things. Dean didn’t press until they got back and saw that Cas had visited since they’d been out, as evidenced by the bottle of bourbon on Dean’s side of the table and the flower and journal on Sam’s.

"Uh, did you do that?" Dean asked, already reaching for his gun.

"No, Cas did," Sam replied shortly, although not unkindly, pressing past his brother into the room.

The flower was called a black dahlia, Sam’s memory supplied helpfully, although he had no idea when he had learned that. The flower wasn’t actually black, but rather a dark purply-red hat was actually rather stunning. Sam twirled it between his fingers for a moment before moving to put it with the rest of the flowers.

"What, Cas gives you flowers now? Are you two still fighting?"

"No, we’re not," Sam answered softly. "And yes, he gives me flowers. Every day for the past couple of weeks."

"No way. I would have noticed that."

Sam held up the pile of flowers in lieu of a reply. Any other time, Dean would probably have teased him mercilessly, but not tonight, when he was already concerned about him, for some reason.

"Damn, he really fucked up, didn’t he?"

"Dean."

"Fine, sorry. But I — " Dean cut himself off with a sigh that was laced with worry, and just like that, Sam  _got it_.

"I’m your little brother," Sam assured with a small, but very genuine, smile, "and Cas is your friend, and you have every right to be concerned. I’m guessing that’s what the bourbon is for."

"What, to pacify me or something?"

"Well, yeah."

"I will have you know that that kind of bribery will work every time."

It wasn’t really funny, but Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Dean’s concern, his stupid sense of humour, it felt _normal_ in a way that he hadn’t felt in years. The smile that Dean gave him was just icing on the cake.

_The thirteenth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen  
I love your smile and the sound of your laugh. When you are happy, you have the ability to make everyone you encounter happy._


	14. Day 14 (Last day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of effing symbolism in roses okay?
> 
> Roses in general: Love, beauty, Heaven, and harmony  
> Red roses: Romance, selflessness, sacrifice  
> White roses: Charm, reverence, humility, innocence, "You are heavenly"  
> Pink roses: Recovery

They got an early start for Springfield the next day. It was only two hundred miles from Chicago, but Dean wanted to savour the trip, or something. Sam wasn't likely to argue with anything that put a smile on his brother's face. So they drove down Route 66 with the windows down, ACDC blaring through the speakers as mile after mile of fields zoomed past. Sam almost felt ten years younger, freshly abducted from college, when the biggest problem in his life was dealing with the monster of the week. He let the wind blow in his face and felt his muscles aching with a smile.

Sam checked the journal periodically, almost obsessively, but there was never anything new. So he took to flipping through the pages, a little delirious in his strangely good mood.

_I love your humility._

_I love your capacity for hope._

_I love how readily you forgive._

_how you see the good in everyone_

_your determination_

_your honesty_

_generosity, faith, independence, joviality,_

_how you learn from your mistakes_.

If you had told Sam a month ago that he had any of these traits, he would have laughed. But now, thinking back, there was a time when he was more or less sure of himself, when he knew he was hopeful and forgiving and honest, and he thought that maybe it wasn't much of a stretch to believe that now. Even with an entire apocalypse under his belt, he could have a little faith in himself, since the two most important people in his life seemed to. Realising that, Sam hadn't felt so light in ages, if ever.

"What are you smilin' about?" Dean asked when the cassette tape ran out.

"Nothin'," Sam replied, shouting to be heard over the air roaring through the open widows. "Just happy."

"Freak." But there was more than a little affection in Dean's voice.

They reached Springfield just before noon, as the sun had risen to shine perfectly onto the Impala's leather seats just to make the ride uncomfortably warm. Sam elected to check them in while Dean made a lunch run, although honestly, he was kind of hoping Cas would pop in for his daily reassurance now that he was stationary.

He set the journal on the table by the window and fled to take a shower, knowing that if he didn't occupy himself, he would begin to obsess. Well, obsess more than he already was.

He didn't check after he got out of the shower either, although he heard the tell-tale flutter as he was pulling his shirt over his head. He gave it a moment before going to check the journal, trying not to seem too eager, but stopped in his tracks when he saw that Cas was standing by the table, nervously playing with the three roses he held in his hand. Sam never thought he would see an angel  _fidget_.

"Cas," Sam breathed, forcing his legs to work again, taking huge strides across the room until he was holding his angel in his arms. "Wait, you're not about to disappear again, are you?"

"No, Sam," Cas smiled, relaxing into Sam's touch. "I thought about staying away a while longer, but then I was informed that today is a day to celebrate love, and -- "

Sam just laughed, grateful to have his husband back. "Stop talking, Cas," he grinned, leaning closer for the kiss that he had been longing for for days. Cas unsurprisingly met him half way, no doubt missing this just as much. The kiss was chaste, but in no way lacking meaning; there was a weight on their chests that dissolved as their lips met.

"So, Cas," Sam teased softly, taking the roses out of Cas's hand so he could lace their fingers together. "What do you love about me today?"

***

When Dean returned from his food run, it was to an empty room. He immediately assumed the worst, although nothing seemed out of place except for a note left on the pillow of the bed closest to the door -- Dean's bed, by tradition.

_I'm with Cas. We'll be back in a couple of hours.  
\-- Sam_

Dean's concern immediately resolved itself, and he scoffed playfully, making a mental note to tease the lovebirds later.

***

_The fourteenth of February, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen  
I love you. All of you. Every quality, no matter how small, that makes you who you are. And I always will._


	15. Also day 14 (epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to end the series with smut.

"Close you're eyes," Cas said softly.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, even as he did as he was told, mentally preparing himself for flight.

Cas stood on his toes to kiss Sam gently before holding him tighter and taking off. Sam knew when they had left because of the horrible lurching feeling in his stomach that he swore he would never get used to.

When his stomach settled and he opened his eyes, he saw they were in a motel room that looked exactly like the one they just left.

"Cas?"

"The lock to this room is broken," he explained. "No one can get in."

Sam couldn't help it; he threw his head back and laughed. "You got plans for us, Castiel?"

Cas's face split into a rare wide grin, his fingers tangling in Sam's hair and pulling him down until they were breathing the same air.

"Don't lie to me, Sam," he breathed. "You've been thinking about it too."

Sam would have replied but his mouth was quickly occupied by Cas's, his angel kissing with a kind of deep-seated urgency that he had never felt before. There was a lot of meaning behind how their tongues tangled together, and Sam knew most of it had to do with love and thankfulness. But at the moment, he was too preoccupied with how Cas was kissing him in a way that got him going faster than anything.

God, he had missed this. It had been too long since they'd touched each other with any sort of intent, and Sam's body was acutely aware of every point of contact. Cas's fingers tightened in his hair, and Sam sighed into the kiss. His hands groped blindly for Cas's hips, pulling them flush so he had something to grind against.

"Sam," Cas groaned.

Sam took the chance to kiss and bite down Cas's neck, backing them towards the bed. The height difference made it difficult to coordinate, but damn if anything was going to stop them now.

Sam pulled away reluctantly to fall back onto the mattress, bringing Cas down with him by a hand on his neck.

"What do you want, Sa-am?" Cas asked, his voice breaking when Sam rolled his hips up.

"You," he answered without thinking, flushing at Cas's eye roll because, duh, of course he wanted Cas.

"How do you want me?" Cas amended.

"Naked." There, that was a better answer, he thought as he tore at the buttons of Cas's shirt removing it with the blazer and trenchcoat and cursing, not for the first time, that his husband wore so many layers. When the offensive bunch of clothing had been tossed haphazardly in the general direction of the floor, Cas worked Sam's tee off before they were at each other again, devouring each other's mouths with a new sense of desperation.

It had been way too long.

They made quick work of their pants, crawling farther up the bed, Cas sitting up between Sam's legs and rubbing up his thighs absently.

"Sam?"

"Like this. I need you in me, like," Sam laughed, "two weeks ago."

Cas huffed in what might have been a laugh before producing a bottle of lube from heaven-knows-where. They usually had some on hand, but it was a nice trick that Cas could just magick some into existence, or however he did it. In any case, Sam didn't wonder about it much longer because Cas wasn't exactly taking his time with prepping him, one finger to the last knuckle almost immediately. Sam whined but forced himself to relax as Cas added a second finger almost too soon.

He wanted to tell Cas to slow down, but all that came out was a high keening noise. Cas seemed to understand anyway, as he rocked his fingers into Sam a little at a time, leaning down to suck at the pulse in his neck.

"Okay?" Cas muttered and at Sam's nod, pushed one more finger beside the others.

Sam gasped at the burn. It wasn't too bad, nothing he hadn't handled before, but still shocking. "It's -- "

"Been a while. I know. Almost there, Sam. You're doing so well."

"I'm not a virgin, Cas," Sam huffed, but Cas just chuckled into his skin.

When Cas finally deemed him ready, he pulled his fingers out, and Sam cut off a whine at the loss when he felt Cas's cock pushing insistently at his entrance.

"Okay?" he asked again.

Sam wanted so badly to be irritated that Cas was treating him like some sort of delicate flower, but it was impossible when his skin was burning with lust everywhere Cas touched.

"Yes, Cas," he begged instead. "Fuckin' -- please!"

For one terrible moment, Sam was afraid Cas was going to require a more coherent answer. But then the head of his cock was stretching Sam wide, and he stopped thinking much about anything beyond the delicious burn that he missed so, so much.

"God," Sam choked out, and for once Cas was too far gone to correct him.

He immediately set a slow, tortuous pace, not quick and punishing like Sam had expected, like he thought he needed. But fuck, if every one of Sam's nerves wasn't already alight, he was rapidly approaching oversensitivity after only a few minutes.

Sam moaned high in his throat, writhing against the sheets with no mind to how rough they felt against his skin. "Cas. Cas, please!" He cried out incoherently when Cas thrust at just the right angle, causing the warmth pooling in Sam's stomach to curl into something almost tangible.

Sam was a mess of nerves and watery eyes and "Cas" and "pleasepleaseplease," so far gone he might not have noticed Cas's hand on him if he hadn't felt it like a punch to the gut as his orgasm was pulled out of him.

He most certainly did not pass out. He could handle a little vanilla sex without falling asleep immediately, thank you very much. But the next few minutes were definitely fuzzy as Cas arranged them so they were laying underneath the covers, close enough to breathe each other's air. Sam flattened his hand over Cas's heart, feeling it beat slow and steady, the most relaxing rhythm Sam had ever felt as Sam's own heart slowed to match it.

"Rest, Sam," Cas whispered, pushing a few stray hairs out of Sam's face. "You're tired."

"No, I'm not," Sam objected even as he suppressed a yawn. "Okay, fine, maybe I am. But I don't want to sleep. I want to talk."

"Sam -- "

"Why did you leave?" Short and to the point. The sooner they got this out of the way the sooner Sam could fall asleep without worrying if Cas would be there when he woke up.

"You know why."

"I'm not angry," Sam reassured softly. "Hell, I was never really angry."

"That was the problem," Cas confessed, looking up at Sam with the saddest expression he had seen the angel wear in a long time. "You should have been angry. You had every right to be. What I said to you . . . it was cruel and unforgivable. But you just took it, like you take everything else anyone throws at you. And you believed it, which was even worse. I couldn't let you keep believing such terrible things about yourself anymore."

Sam wanted to argue and say that all the horrible things were true, and any other time, he might have. Except now he realised what Cas was saying. Really realised, not just listened tolerantly.

"I had already been planning something like this for a while," Cas continued. "Something more like an intervention. But then we fought, and I stumbled across the custom of giving your loved one flowers when they're angry with you. It seemed like perfect timing."

"So you weren't doing it because I was upset with you," Sam voiced the idea that had been in the back of his head for the past few days. "You were doing it because I was upset with myself."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "Did it work?"

Sam thought of his strange glee that morning and the sense of peace he felt at reading what Cas had written, thinking of the past, wondering how much he had really changed and thinking that maybe, possibly, he was a step above the scum of the earth.

"Yeah," Sam smiled. "Maybe not drastically, but a little. Baby steps."

Cas looked momentarily confused at the phrase. Sam could almost see him wondering what baby Sam could possibly be referencing and how it pertained to the conversation. He didn't correct him, just laughed and kissed his angel's frown away.

**Author's Note:**

> Red carnation: Admiration, says “My heart aches for you.” Cas is really very sorry about their argument.


End file.
